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I Turned My Dad Into A Triathlete (Or Was It The Other Way Around?)

On Father's Day, a triathlete reflects on how in her family, the apple hasn't fallen far from the tree.

by Jessica Wozinsky

"Gary, you can’t wear those around the neighborhood!" my mom shouted to my dad. It was a Sunday morning and he was walking in the door of my parents’ house in Queens, New York with a dozen bagels and the newspaper in his hands—and wearing head-to-toe Spandex. You see, a few months before, I had turned my 58-year-old father into a triathlete.

Signing up for an Olympic-distance triathlon was a big deal for my dad, considering that prior to this the only sport he regularly participated in during his adult life was bowling. The idea occurred to me though, as I watched him slowly get healthier. He got braces in his early fifties and had to give up his bedtime snack of gummy worms and Sour Patch Kids for fear that they’d get stuck in the metal brackets. He also had to cut all his meals into tiny bites, which made him eat more slowly.

It was small changes like these that made his beer belly shrink over time and inspired him to dig out his old Schwinn from the garage. He started riding it around our neighborhood and even began swimming laps at our local pool. I knew that if I could just get him into running, he’d consider training for a race with me. So when Christmas came around, I stuffed his stocking with running tights and a moisture-wicking T-shirt. He put on the skin-tight pants after breakfast but instead of actually going for a run, he jumped around our house pretending to be Michael Flatley from Riverdance.

Within a few weeks my father called to tell me that the tights had inspired him to venture out for a run/walk to the park. I prodded him a bit more and assured him that he was fit enough to start training with me. Miraculously, he agreed to sign up for an Olympic-distance race consisting of a .9-mile swim, 25-mile bike ride and 6.2-mile run.

We trained with Team in Training to raise money for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, which I had done on my own twice before. As excited as I was that he’d be sharing this experience with me, I also worried that maybe he wouldn’t exactly fit in with the majority of 20- and 30-somethings that make up the bulk of the group. His free time was quickly taken up with after-work swim sessions, evening runs in Central Park, and Saturday morning bike rides. As race day approached, I realized my fears were unfounded. My father’s contact list was filled with the numbers of our teammates, he was hosting a celebratory barbecue after the race, and at the pre-race expo, I even found him manning the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society’s table. Besides the social aspect, he was running without walking breaks, developed a better swim technique than I had, and had invested in a shiny new road bike.

On race morning my father and I exchanged a quick wetsuit-clad hug before he jumped into the rushing Hudson River with the rest of the 55 to 59-year-olds while I waited another half hour. On the bike portion, I caught a glimpse of him while I was going one way and he the other on an out-and-back. He was too focused to notice me, but I screamed his name as I passed. Waiting at the finish, I watched him pick up the pace and sprint to the end like the true triathlete he’d become.

My father continued his healthy habits but didn’t sign up for another race until two summers later, when I convinced him to do another with me. This time, we took on a much hillier course and raced during a torrential downpour. When I could barely see in front of me because the rain was coming down so hard, I worried about what I had gotten my father into just a few weeks before his 60th birthday. But then I started to realize that in a way, it was the other way around: He’s the one that got me into this sport. He’s the one who taught me to love the outdoors, the person who bought me my first pair of goggles so he and I could check out the snails at the bottom of Lake George, our family vacation spot, and who patiently taught me how to ride a two-wheeler. Most of all, he and my mom provided rock-solid support that gave me the courage to do things like sign up for a triathlon when I didn’t think I had an athletic bone in my body.

I was still nervously waiting for him, when he came charging through the finishing shoot. As the crowd cheered, he pumped his fist into the air with a look of pure satisfaction on his face.

After all he’s given me, it's the least I could've given him in return.

Jessica Wozinsky has completed over 14 triathlons, including IRONMAN Lake Placid. She’s currently working on getting her dad to tackle the next distance up. Follow her on Twitter @jessicawozinsky